Broken Silence
by FatesMistake
Summary: Harry's voice has been stolen from him by the cost of the war he'd thought to be over. Severus makes it his mission to get it back. Can he succeed? Slash, obviously. Rated T for safeTy, lol.


Silence. Every Student ever to walk Hogwart's hallowed halls had heard the word more times than they could count; in classrooms, in the Great Hall, even in their common rooms. But for one student, silence was all he knew. For Harry, the silence had begun in earnest the summer following his defeat of the Dark Lord in Sixth Year.

No one but Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Harry himself knew what the Final Battle had entailed, or the storm it had wrought on Harry's soul to finally kill the man who tormented the Wizarding World, but the smoldering remains of the darkest wizard the Wizarding World had ever known stood as evidence that he had succeeded. Unfortunately, they had begun to celebrate his victory too soon, it seemed, as Death Eaters seeking revenge were still at large. Those same Death Eaters had gone after Harry's relatives, thinking he'd been returned there following Sixth Year. The Aurors charged with guarding the muggles had been too late to save any of the family, but had arrived in time to capture the remaining threats to the Wizarding Savior.

It was when Harry was told the following morning about the skirmish that his voice left him. The Aurors had woken the Weasley's early on that warm winter day to deliver their grim news, and since that fateful day he had failed to utter a sound. Not for lack of trying, the Boy Who Lived had lost all ability to speak.

Harry had been almost a year now without his voice. The Healer's at St. Mungo's, after a gauntlet of tests, had determined that his silence was one born of shock. The news of his relative's deaths had come so soon after his supposed victory over the Dark side that his system had overloaded with the warring emotions. Unfortunately, not even magic knew of a cure for this strange and sudden muteness beyond hoping for a break in the silence over time. The Healers had suggested hopefully that a secondary shock to the system might release his vocal chords, but so far nothing had worked. Not even Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley's announcement of their nuptials following her graduation had been enough to return his voice to him. Nothing, it seemed, could break Harry's silence.

"Potter."

The Seventh Year turned in surprise from where he'd been leaning his forehead against the stone wall of the corridor. He blushed and raised his wand, tapping out a series of floating words. "_Sorry, Professor, I didn't see you. Is it past curfew?_"

The Potions Master shook his head. He'd been surprisingly unconfrontational with Harry ever since it was discovered that his silence couldn't be broken. "You have a few minutes yet, Potter. What are you doing here alone?"

Harry sighed and looked away from the cool black eyes that seemed to bore into his, raising his wand again. "_I was looking for something."_

Snape began to circle him slowly, reminding Harry of a hawk circling its prey. "And what could you have been searching for in an abandoned corridor, I wonder?"

"_Silence."_

The taller man seemed unsurprised by this answer as he came to a stop before Harry. "One might think that that, of all things, would be the last thing _you_ would seek, Potter."

Harry shrugged. _"My hearing works fine, sir, and the common room is filled with noise. I'm tired of being separate from everyone, of being trapped by the sounds around me unable to play a part."_ He grasped his elbows to ward against a cold that radiated in his soul as the last sentence flowed from his wand. _"I feel so alone, sir."_

Snape hummed thoughtfully and cast a Tempus spell at the nearby wall. It showed the time just as it changed to 10'o'clock. "Perhaps you can find your silence, then, in detention. Tomorrow night immediately following dinner." He moved past Harry, who stood staring in dismay at the spot where he'd been. The Potions Master called over his shoulder a few feet down the corridor. "Do not be late, Potter."

Harry shot a scowl at the man's retreating form and stormed back to Gryffindor Tower, in the opposite direction the older wizard had gone. Frustration replaced the cold, lonely tightness in his chest.

The Wizarding Savior knocked firmly on the door to the Potions classroom the following evening, a scowl firmly in place. When the command came for him to enter, he did so, closing the door behind him with perhaps more force than was necessary. He marched between the rows of student's benches to stand before Snape's desk, arms crossed over his chest.

The Potions Master didn't look up from his grading, only used his quill to point at the far countertop. "The cauldron's you'll be cleaning are there. You know the rules by now, Potter, and I'm sure you know where the cleaning supplies are. Get to work."

Harry turned sharply on his heel towards the corner Snape had pointed to and found fewer cauldrons than normal waiting for him. Rolling up his sleeves, he gathered his materials and set to work scrubbing the first cauldron. Only a few minutes passed before he realized that the silence, broken only by the scratching of Snape's quill and scrub of his brush, was a small comfort. He worked quietly for a little more than an hour before Snape came over to inspect his work.

The Potions Master gave the finished cauldrons a cursory inspection before turning to Harry. "You have done enough for tonight, Potter. You may go."

The Seventh Year nodded and stood, brushing off his knees. He gave the man a short wave of goodbye and started to leave, but halfway to the door, Snape stopped him.

"Potter, aren't you forgetting something?"

Harry turned around and cocked his head in confusion. He couldn't think of anything he might have forgotten, unless Snape had wanted him to finish the cauldron he'd been working on. But, since the scrub brush was now working on its own to clean the cauldron, he doubted that was it. He waited patiently as the professor closed some of the distance between them.

"I just released you from a detention early, Potter, you should show some form of gratitude," He pointed out, speaking slow as if Harry were thick.

Harry frowned, then smacked his forehead as if to say he were a dunce. He reached for his wand in his back pocket, only to find his wrist held in an iron grip, and Snape only a few inches from him.

"Aloud, Potter."

The Gryffindor stared up at the man in shock. "I can't," He mouthed angrily, scowling, trying even then to force some sound out.

"You can," Snape growled impatiently.

Harry ripped his hand free and raised his wand. "I've tried," He spelled. "Only a shock or something will give me my voice back! Your commands are worthless!"

It was the Slytherin's turn to scowl. "Detention, Potter, tomorrow night." He paused, and gave Harry a malevolent smirk. "For your tongue."

Harry bared his teeth, but chose not to argue as he stormed from the room. When he reached the corridor, he opened his mouth and bent double in a silent scream of frustration, forcing all of the air from his lungs. It occurred to him that Snape was trying to help in his own twisted way, but he'd be damned if the man wasn't a stubborn bastard for punishing because he couldn't talk. It wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter.

SSHP

The next night saw Harry cleaning yet more cauldrons. Snape tried again in vain to make him speak. Finding no spoken answer, he seemed to grow as frustrated as Harry felt.

"Detention, Potter, for every night until graduation or until your voice echoes against the dungeon walls!" The man declared angrily.

Harry glared back in defiance. "Fine," He mouthed. He turned on his heel, leaving Snape fuming in the middle of the classroom, and slammed the door closed behind him. If Snape wanted to play this game, then Harry wouldn't argue. Despite how frustrating Snape's demands for him to speak were becoming, he didn't so much mind the comfortable silence when he was scrubbing cauldrons while the man graded. He could put up with Snape's stubbornness for the welcome escape from the noise of Gryffindor Tower.

The pattern of Harry cleaning cauldrons each night, followed by Snape trying to force some manner of speech out of him, continued for several weeks. It became such a normal thing that the school had taken to actively avoiding trouble around Snape, so that no one could interrupt the nightly interaction. Everyone, even the Slytherins, seemed to hope that Snape would find success where everyone else had failed. Then, one night late into term, Harry found no cauldrons waiting to be purged of their caked-on contents, only Snape stood leaning against the front of his desk.

Harry came to a stop a few feet from the Potions Master, crossing his arms over his chest in mimicry of the man before him. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Tonight we will be doing things differently, Potter, as my methods thus far have earned no result," Snape said smoothly.

Harry flicked his hand, a trick he'd been learning ever since Snape had first made him realize that he couldn't always rely on his wand. Words formed in front of his crossed arms. _"You mean we aren't going to continue pretending these are legitimate detentions anymore?" _He asked boldly, meeting the man's gaze with a fierce defiance.

Snape frowned, but otherwise ignored the biting remark, instead closing most of the distance between them in a few strides. "You _are_ going to speak, Potter."

Harry raised his hand again, but before words could begin to form Snape grabbed it, his thumb and fingertips digging into the soft flesh of Harry's palm, forcing it aside. The man's other arm wrapped around Harry's waist in an unrelenting grip and drew their bodies flush together. Before Harry could understand what was happening, pale lips descended on his in a passionate, furious kiss.

A warm tongue pressed past Harry's partially open lips, and he found himself drawn further into the kiss, battling the other man for dominance. With their bodies held so tightly together, it wasn't long before Harry realized that the man was turned on by their tongue play, and he felt his own hardness twitch in response. Embarrassed, Harry used the hand caught between them to push the man away. His other hand flew to his mouth.

"Merlin's ghost, what the fuck was that?" He demanded, his voice barely more than a strained whisper after so long in disuse.

Snape wiped a slick of saliva from his own pale, swollen lower lip, and smirked. Harry fled the room.

By lunch the next day, the entire school knew that Snape had finally succeeded in returning Harry's voice to him. It was vague from disuse, but he had mustered enough to lie to his friends about Snape trying to curse him, and the shout of surprise it had ripped from his throat. Considering their history, no one questioned Harry's story, and the news of Snape's success had spread like wildfire through the four Houses.

For the Final week of term, there was little else on everyone's lips aside from Harry's miraculous recovery, and what spell Snape might have used, with the occasional break in conversation to wonder over the results of each person's NEWTs, OWLs or, school finals. On the night of the Leaving Feast, Harry ignored his friend's pleas to join them in Hogsmeade for a last hurrah, instead following Snape out of the Great Hall and into the dungeons. They reached a dimly lit abandoned corridor before he realized Snape was intentionally leading him away from the crowds of students.

"You regain your voice, and yet choose to remain silent?" The Potions Master asked suddenly, turning to face Harry. Harry paused, then continued moving closer until they were barely a couple feet apart

"The Healer's said I should limit how much I use my voice. My vocal chords are still raw, and if I'm not careful I could cause permanent damage," He responded, his tone very soft and strained.

Snape gave a slow, single nod of acknowledgement. "I will not comment then on how nice it is to hear your voice, lest it encourage you to speak further."

Harry blushed at the compliment buried in the remark. "I-I followed you because I wanted to-" His words were cut off with a croak as his throat muscles seized violently. He grimaced and Snape took a concerned step towards him. "I wanted to-" Again, Harry's voice cracked, and a cool finger was placed against his lips to stop him trying to speak further. The Gryffindor looked up into the deep black pools of his now former professor.

"This time, you don't have to say it aloud."

Harry blushed again, but nodded and stood on the tips of his toes to place a tender kiss on pale lips. Snape deepened the kiss quickly, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and drawing the shorter wizard closer. For several minutes, Harry tried to pour everything he felt into the kiss, wrapping his own arms around the man's shoulders, but couldn't quite manage. Finally, he pulled away, stoppering the desire coursing through his veins.

"I _really_ want this," He said softly. "But I shouldn't. Up until last week I thought I was into girls."

Snape smirked. "Shut up, Potter."

Harry grinned as he was drawn back into the warm, encompassing mesh of lips and bodies. His silence had been broken by a kiss, but a new, welcome silence had taken its place, a silence bred of comfort, where things weren't said because they didn't need to be. As he stood in that dark dungeon corridor snogging his professor of seven years, Harry hoped that this new silence would remain unbroken for years to come.


End file.
